Send Your Child Off to College with All He'll Need
by Gina44144
Summary: Sam spends his first day at Stanford getting the essentials, which, naturally, requires a trip to Bed Bath & Beyond.


Title: Send Your Child Off to College with Everything He'll Need

Fandom: SPN

Author: relli86

Rating: G

Words: 2,379

Spoilers: None

Characters/Pairings: Gen, Stanford-era Sam story

Summary: Sam spends his first day at Stanford getting the essentials, which, naturally, requires a trip to Bed Bath & Beyond.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Supernatural or the Winchesters, no matter how much I may want to.

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at writing straight Sam-fic. I hope I did him justice.

Sam realizes, after he shells out fifty dollars for his dorm tax and opens the door to his tiny-ass _double_ room, that college gives you next to nothing. Currently, he's got a place in the class of 2006, the aforementioned room and key, a desk, chair, and an extra-long – but not long enough – mattress on the _bottom_ of a metal frame bunk bed.

He's used to living in tight quarters – Dad alone could fill up an entire motel room with his mere presence – but this, the cement blocks, the brown tile floor, his still-to-be-identified roommate's stuff taking up most of the room, was not what he expected. Maybe he'd seen a little too much of the TV version of college, like Buffy – it can be educational – in her giant dorm with enough room for two queen beds and a sparing session.

The top bunk is neatly made with a black comforter covered in skull and crossbones and matching pillowcases. Sam has to physically restrain himself from going through the boxes on the floor to make sure his roommate isn't a collector of the real thing. Besides the boxes, there's a TV on the stacked drawers and a mini-fridge in the corner. Sam holds tight to his lone duffel and tries to think of what he can possibly add to this relationship. A sparkling personality and dazzling wit? Dean would kick his ass just for thinking it.

Sam starts at that, moves to the lower bunk and drops down into it, smacking his head on the top bunk in the process. He grunts, brings a hand to the back of his head. The pain is good; it gives him something else to focus on. He sits on the rock hard mattress and takes in the room that will be his home for the next nine months. The ceiling may be stained with yellow, his roommate may or may not be a heavy metal-loving pirate, but this place was his, and it was the freaking Ritz compared to some of the places he'd stayed.

Sam picks his hand up from the blue mattress and frowns as he sees the dust covering his fingers. Okay, so he definitely needs some sheets first.

-----------

Sam finds a store called Bed Bath & Beyond a little ways off campus. He stands outside the censored glass doors for a few minutes and watches countless women go in and come out, hands full of big white shopping bags and arms laden with fans and pictures and shower curtains and collapsible chairs and what the hell kind of store was this anyway?

After he's almost run over by a determined woman pushing a shopping cart holding a giant hamper, an Ab-Lounge™ _and_ a two gallon bucket of margarita mix, Sam forces himself inside, feeling like this is the final betrayal, the last break with the Winchester ways.

He walks aimlessly up and down the aisles for over thirty minutes, lost and overwhelmed. He had no idea that shower curtains came in so many varieties or that there were so many different types of spatulas or that there was something called a "valance."

After another ten minutes of wandering, he comes across a college checklist on one of the aisle displays. He picks one up and looks it over, categorizing the items in his head – need or don't need – not exactly rocket science. He's got about eight hundred dollars in his pocket. He figures he needs about half of that for textbooks alone, which leaves him pretty much on a what-I-absolutely-need-to-survive budget.

Sheets, he decides, I need sheets. That was his reason for coming here in the first place. He traces his steps back to the bedding aisle he passed earlier. Sam looks at all the labels, cross references the descriptions with the price tag and doesn't like what he sees. They've got flannels and jersey sheets, prints and solids, and 1000-thread count, 100 cotton, Sateen Stripe sheets in white, ivory, gold, navy, sage, _and_ canvas. Where, exactly, could he find white threadbare sheets washed so many times that they're less like cotton and more like starched paper?

"You look lost," a voice says from his right, and Sam whips his head around, sucks in a breath. God, only thirty-six hours and he's already let someone sneak up on him.

But, Sam realizes as he takes in the owner of the voice, that this is not just someone. This is a girl, a pretty girl with wavy, blonde hair and blue eyes and for the love of God, why must his throat close up every damn time he's in a twenty-foot radius of a pretty girl? He knows what Dean would say – _Sammy, how the hell are you ever gonna get laid if you can't even talk to a girl? Look I know this corner –_ and that helps Sam find his voice. He'd rather feel like an idiot in front of this girl than head down that road.

"Yeah," Sammy chuckles, amazed that his voice actually sounds normal, "I've never seen so many sheets before in my life."

The girl laughs, soft and not too enthusiastically, just enough to verify that she's got a sense of humor. She comes towards him, parking her shopping cart full of sheets and bath towels and some weird looking foam thing at the end of the aisle.

She's dressed in faded jeans and a loose white shirt with a slight cut through the neckline. Her skin's tan from the sun or, Sam thinks, a tanning booth – this is California – but she doesn't seem like the type.

She's next to him now, a slight smirk on her face, and Sam blushes, knows he's been caught. But she doesn't say anything, just points to a set of teal sheets to Sam's right.

"I got these," she says, "extra-long and the cheapest I could find. You're in college, right?"

Sam nods. "Freshman, at Stanford," he tells her, but it doesn't fill him with the pride he thought it would.

The girl smiles, bright, but real. "Me too. It's all kind of overwhelming, isn't it?"

Sam gives her a shaky smile. "Just a little."

She laughs again and then grows quiet. Sam takes a look at the sheets she'd pointed out, plucks a navy set from the shelf, and reads the price tag. _$15.99_ – a week's worth of Kraft and Ramen dinners – but they'd have to do.

"Thanks," he says, looking at the girl out of the corner of his eye.

He can see her smile. "No problem. I'm in the same boat, anyway."

Sam can't help but think that, despite her kindness, she's really not.

"I'm the third kid to go away so my parents have it down to an art form," she explains. "They send us off with a hug, a car, and the Amex." She finishes it with a laugh, but Sam can hear the sadness in her voice.

Sam chews on the bottom of his lip. "That . . . that kind of sucks," he tells her.

She shrugs, puts on a too-bright smile. "Nah, it's just easier that way, for us at least. The South-side Moores aren't much for tearful goodbyes."

That Sam can definitely relate to. The Winchesters much prefer screaming matches and swearing and never actually utter the words "good" and "bye," at least not in conjunction with each other.

"Sorry," the girl says, "that was way too much information for Bed Bath & Beyond. I guess all the domesticity brings the sharing-and-caring side out of me."

Sam laughs and turns to look at her head-on. "No need to be sorry," he says, "messing around in sheets can have that effect on people." The girl lets out a laugh, and Sam wants to kick himself. What is he doing, channeling Dean?

"I didn't mean it like that," Sam stammers out. "I would never . . . I'm mean you're a pretty girl . . . not that I'm hitting on you . . . not that I wouldn't but . . . I'm just gonna stop talking now."

By the time he finishes, his face is red, and he's dangerously close to breaking out in a full body sweat.

The girl's hand is on his arm and yeah, that's not really helping. "It's okay," she says, her voice quivering with amusement, "I knew what you meant."

Sam's not sure what to say next, but the girl saves him the trouble. "I'm Jess, by the way."

"Sam," he tells her and holds out his hand like she's one of his dad's old marine buddies. It's a reflex, ingrained in him, and usually girls laugh at him, but Jess doesn't. She just shakes his hand, hard and quick, and Sam's palm comes away sweaty.

"So, Sam," she says, once the connection is broken, "What else do you need?"

Sam looks at the list in his hand, _shower caddy, futon, alarm clock_ – all on his "don't need" list. "I guess, like a blanket?"

"A bedspread-type blanket?"

Sam nods, "Yeah, that'd be good."

Jess starts down the aisle, and Sam follows. "I got mine over here," she says and reclaims her cart, pushing it down the center aisle. Sam wonders if he should volunteer to push it for her. Is this the college equivalent of walking a girl's books to class? He's pretty sure Dean would declare him the biggest dork ever for even thinking that.

Before he can ponder it anymore, Jess stops in front of the clearance section, pointing him in the direction of the bargain bedspreads. Sam follows her instructions and starts to poke around the selection. He finds a plain navy comforter – _29.95_, a silver goblet at a pawn shop to melt down to bullets – and picks it up. His arms are full at this point, but Jess has already made room for his stuff in her cart. He smiles his thanks and deposits the bedding, grabs the handle of the cart before she can react.

"You don't have to . . ." she starts, but Sam cuts her off.

"Maybe not, but I want to," he says, giving her a quick smile.

Jess smiles back, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks. Sam likes that he put it there.

The rolled up foam thing catches Sam's gaze again, and he gestures to it. "What is that?" he asks.

"I'm not sure what the technical name is, but it's like this egg carton mattress pad thing for your bed. You put in on the mattress under the sheets and it's supposed to make the bed bearable. It's like five dollars. You want?"

Sam mulls it over, thinks of the extra-long bed and his extra-extra-long legs and thinks that nothing could make the bed bearable. Plus, _$5.00_ – three blessed rosaries – isn't really something he can spare.

"Nah, that's okay."

After that, the rest of the shopping trip goes fairly quickly. Jess knows her way around the place – she informs him that the layout's basically the same in every store – and Sam's got a few select items on the "need" list. A pillow, some hangers, and a big bath towel join the bedding, and Sam's thinking he can get out of this with a price tag of less than fifty dollars. He remembers the poor lighting in the room and decides on a small desk lamp for _$12.99_ – one pair of jeans and a button-down at the Salvation Army – for the long nights of studying.

The lamp picked out and placed in the cart, Sam's done, everything on his mental "need" list present and accounted for.

"I think I'm good," he tells Jess, and she picks out a similar lamp – a light blue instead of black like his – and puts it in the cart. "Me too."

Sam steers the cart towards the checkout and stops in front of number two. Jess digs around in her purse and pulls out a stack of small paper rectangles. "Here," she says, handing him a handful.

Sam takes them and reads the front of one. _20 off one item ten dollars or more. _Another says, _Five dollars off a total purchase of $25 dollars or more. _ "I can't take these," he tells her instinctively.

"What?" she asks. "Sure you can. They're just coupons. Besides, you can only use five at one time, and I've got a lot more items than that."

Sam stares at the coupons, thinks of Dean sitting on a kitchen chair, the motel bed, the toilet seat and going through the newspaper, cutting out coupons from the ads with a pair of rusty scissors. _Save $1.00 on Chef Boyardee products. Buy one frozen Red Baron pizza, get one free. General Mills cereal 2 boxes for $4.00. _Sam remembers asking Dean if he could cut them out – _I'll be real careful, Dean, promise – _and Dean letting him, but always watching his progress and constantly reminding him to cut along the dashed lines – _They're no good if the store can't read them_.

Sam's breath catches in his throat, and he has to turn away from Jess, stare at the jumbo pretzels and teddy-bear shaped containers of animal crackers to keep himself from completely losing it.

"You okay?" she asks, and Sam nods, turning back to her.

"Yeah, it's just . . ." Sam says, his voice trailing off.

"It hits you at odd times," Jess supplies, "I was in the bathroom a couple of hours ago and the toilet paper was gone and all I could think about was that Mom always made sure there was an extra roll. I started bawling like a five-year-old." Sam's watching Jess intently, and she averts her eyes as she finishes, red returning to her cheeks. "I can't believe I just told you that."

Sam puts a light hand on her shoulder, "I basically told you I wanted to get you in bed before even knowing your name. I think I win."

Jess laughs and looks into Sam's eyes. Sam stares back, starts rubbing his hand up and down her upper arm without even realizing it.

"Do you . . ." Jess says, hesitating slightly, "do you need a ride back to campus?"

Sam nods, keeps staring into her eyes, and thinks that he just might be okay.


End file.
